


37 Days

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 01:43:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11347320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: It's been 37 days . . . Post 'One Son'





	37 Days

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

37 Days by Drovar

Title: 37 Days  
Author: Drovar  
Email:   
Rating: PG  
Date: 2/14/99  
Website: The Ferret Cage  
URL: http://www.ferret-cage.com/  
Summary: It's been 37 days . . . Post 'One Son'  
Category: V, A  
Disclaimers: CC, Fox & 1013 can keep all the rest, Spender belongs to me.  
Notes: Not beta'd, a short something that came to me just now.

* * *

It's cold. I've let the fire burn down again . . .

I consider stoking the fire. But I didn't bring in any wood last night, and the cold outside makes the ache even worse.

I think I was delirious again last night. I remember blood; he wanted blood, there had to be blood.

I ache, and I'm cold.

There's no snow on the ground; not yet, even here, but it's so cold.

The blankets are damp with my sweat, clammy and dank. I stink, but there's no one here to notice, not since he dumped me here, alone.

Thankfully the night terrors, sweats, and dreams are becoming less severe as time goes by.

Time, I once thought I had none, now I have nothing else.

I gingerly burrow back beneath the blankets and drift off into my usual uneasy sleep.

I never used to dream. I'd wake up each morning a blank slate, swept clean by the night. Now I sometimes can't tell where the dreaming stops and the reality of my life begins.

I hear my mother calling for me in my dreams sometimes. She's so far away. I run for her, following her echoing voice, uncertain, unclear which way to go. Sometimes I catch a glimpse, a soft face in the distance, serene, at peace. Sometimes I envy her death.

But I'm still among the living, still trapped in machinations I don't understand by forces I'm unable to fight. I turn slowly onto my uninjured side, chasing the oblivion of sleep.

I wonder how Mulder ever managed it without going completely insane. I know things I never imagined could be true, things I've denied the reality of all my life. I've been a fool, easily manipulated, a child caught in a game where I hadn't a clue about the rules.

Now I know, now I understand, now when it's far too late.

I don't know what's going on in the world around me. I don't know what's happening at the bureau. There's no phone here, no radio, no television, not even electricity. I rise with the sun, and sleep when it sets.

I tried to walk out, but these woods seem to go on forever. I spent one night alone, in the dark, huddled beneath a fallen tree. That was my last excursion. There's food at least, and medicine. I won't starve or die of infection. Though I wonder how many painkillers it would take to join my mother.

I managed to scrape some old pencils and paper. Enough to keep this journal. But I have so little to write about other than my random thoughts. Sad little poems for my mother, and letters of sincere apology to the people I nearly betrayed in my ignorance.

I have no idea what he plans to do with me. I'm not certain I even care. But I do know this. I've lived a large part of my life as a fool. But I can now finally sign my name . . .

Jeffrey Frank Spender  
An honest man

[END]


End file.
